Demon Dance

by Brian Freyermuth

  The décor was more a representation of the owner’s heritage than a simple theme. Jake and Thelma’s father moved here about forty years ago from the Caribbean, but their grandfather was from Nigeria. Their roots went deep.

  Thelma looked up from behind the bar and smiled as I planted myself into my usual chair. She and her employees continued their choreographed hustle as they served the morning rush. A young woman with short black hair and a nose ring ran the cash register, and a young man, broad at the shoulders and even broader around the waist, operated the espresso machine. Thelma walked up to me, her crooked smile a little strained. Her slacks were pressed, and not a piece of fuzz marred her turquoise sweater. She had obviously conquered the supernatural frizz, because her hair was back to the normal, tight curls that flowed down to her shoulders.

  “Double Americano, whipped cream?”

  I nodded. “How’d you sleep?” I asked.

  “Fine, I guess,” she said with a hesitant tone. You could slice a knife through the tension between us.

  “You still have a bed?”

  Thelma shrugged. “He destroyed the library and the downstairs, but that’s it.” She didn’t need to clarify who he was.

  “Some blessings, I guess. I was planning on coming over to clean up tonight after you close.”

  She shrugged. “You don’t have to. I’m not going to have much time until after I get back from the reunion.” She smiled, but it seemed thin.

  I changed the subject. We needed to get past this, whatever this was.

  “It’s amazing what three months can do,” I said as I looked around. “I remember when you had to pull people off the street just to get customers.”

  “Yeah, people usually frown on kidnapping for coffee,” she said, her smile becoming warmer as she followed my gaze. “It grows every month, although I’m not complaining. Even if the clientele is more… interesting.”

  A yelling match in the corner proved her point. Two young men, frat boys from the looks of their purple and gold UW sweatshirts, smashed their foreheads against each other and burst into raucous laughter.

  “A little cliché, don’t you think?”

  Thelma leaned closer. “No, those are satyrs,” she whispered.

  “Really?” I said, impressed. “Damn, their glamour has gotten better over the years. I don’t even see the horns.”

  “You wouldn’t, unless you know what to look for. Or unless one of them tries to brag about his goat qualities.”

  “And that doesn’t turn you on?” I laughed. Now that she mentioned it, I noticed most of the customers had something… off about them. You couldn’t tell unless you studied them, but I could see the details. A pair of Middle Eastern men, dressed in identical charcoal suits, sat with their backs to the windows, each one wearing a wooden horse pendant on matching chains. They drank coffee in perfect unison. Another man in the back held his coffee with a hand covered in Celtic tattoos.

  “I have you to thank for this,” she said.

  She was right, but it was the least I could do. When I faced down the King of Hell three months ago, Thelma and her brother Jake were right by my side.

  “No fights?” I asked.

  “Not a one. Everyone plays nice.”

  “I guess there aren’t many places like this around.”

  She shrugged. “There aren’t many people who could trick a King of Hell into making this Neutral Ground. By decree of Heaven and Hell, no less.”

  “Ah, shucks, ma’am,” I said, putting on my best cowboy accent. “Twern’t nothin’. Jus’ lookin’ out fer my own.”

  “Seriously, Nick. You didn’t have to. Thanks.”

  “And you need to stop thanking me. You and Jake helped me out with Baal. That’s how it works.”

  The two satyrs exploded into laughter again, but this time it was followed by the crashing of mugs. “Duty calls,” Thelma said before grabbing a broom and heading out into the crowd.

  I watched her maneuver through the customers and sighed. I really did need her help, but every fiber in my being screamed at me to leave her out of it. Whenever someone dies under mysterious circumstances, it always leads to more bodies. Mysterious deaths were like plagues. You get too close to one, and it spreads around like typhoid. But I’ve always been more of a “kick the door down and throw a couch in your face” kind of guy. Magic gave me the heebie-jeebies. That only left me one option.

  “You look pensive,” Thelma said as she returned to the counter.

  “I need a favor, and you know how much I like asking,” I said.

  She actually smiled at that. “You know what I’ll say to that.”

  “I’m being an idiot?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Fine, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I told her about Felix and his friend Sal and the odd magic coming from the corpse. “He wants me to come to the examiner’s office at eight to look at the body. I owe him one for the whole Senator Helms thing.”

  “And how does your friend know there’s magic involved?”

  “He has his ways,” I told her. Felix’s secret was his to keep. There’s a pretty big stigma when it comes to sucking blood and being one of the undead.

  She gave it exactly six seconds of thought. “All right. Sounds like fun.”

  Damn. “I hope not. Fun for me usually ends in lots of screaming and blood.”

  “Have you tried managing a coffee shop in Seattle?”

  “Good point.”

  “Well, I have a function tonight, but I can meet you there afterward.”

  “It’s probably nothing. Look at the body, see what traces are left behind, that sort of thing.”

  “Is it usually nothing?”

  I sighed. “Never.”

  She gave that crooked smile again. “Then I’ll make sure to come prepared.” A commotion interrupted, and she slid out from behind the counter and headed over to play referee with the drunk college satyrs once again.

  Thelma being prepared meant a bag of magic and a handgun as big as my car. I stared into the depths of my coffee and just hoped none of it would be necessary.

  <><><>

  The rest of the day drifted by. I got some writing in, grabbed some lunch at the great little Mexican place right next to a bronze statue of Lenin, and then went for a walk along the river. Even the fickle Washington weather gods decided to take pity on me with the clouds enveloping the sky as I made my way home.

  After that and a good old dinner of steak and potatoes, it was time to get this favor over with.

  The Seattle Central Medical Examiner office was a medium-sized building right in the middle of downtown. It looked like it would be comfortable next to a law office or a steel mill. One story above and one below. I’ve never understood why they called it the Central M.E., since it was the only one in Seattle. I’m proud to say I’d never had a reason to visit the M.E.’s office in this particular city. (L.A. was another story). Of course, there’s a first time for everything.

  I parked my old red Mustang out of sight of the main building and headed over. I wore my usual jean jacket, except tonight I had a Black Sabbath baseball cap on backward. Appropriate, I thought. Sure enough, a dark figure, as tall and thin as a ladder, stood outside the side door.

  “You’re late, man,” Felix said as I approached. “Almost didn’t think you were coming.”

  “I got lost.”

  “Yeah, happens a lot. Let’s head on down.”

  “Someone was supposed to meet me here…”

  “Real pretty lady, dark skin, gorgeous neck?”

  “Not a thing to say to me, Felix. No biting allowed.”

  “Oh, yeah, sorry. Anyway, she’s already downstairs and looking at Sal. I gotta say, man, you have great taste in women.”

  That I could agree on. Although, I’d still have to watch Felix around her. He might be a good guy, but I had no clue how good his control was.

  Felix took us in through a back room and down an emergency stairwell. It o
pened to a sterile hallway that stretched around the corner. Felix led me to the third door on the right, but then he stopped.

  “You got to be careful in here, man,” he said. “I just got this job. If my boss found out I let you guys in, she’d hogtie me and let me fry in the sun.”

  “Hey, I’m always careful.”

  His look said it all.

  “You wound me,” I said. “How about this? I’ll try my damnedest to make sure nothing breaks. I can’t make the same promise when it comes to Sal’s body.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Thelma can explain. She knows more about this whole magic thing than I do.”

  He nodded and opened the door to a small examination room. It was exactly what you would expect at a M.E.’s office. Sterile room, a ton of stainless steel instruments, and the smell. Man, I could never get used to that smell. The mixture of industrial cleaners with a slight hint of death underneath. Yeah, everything about this place was normal. Well, normal except for the woman in a black evening gown sitting in a metal folding chair.

  “A little fancy for morgue duty, don’t you think?” I asked as I walked up to Thelma.

  “I didn’t have time to change.” A small wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. I’d known her long enough to know what that meant. I knew Felix was waiting, but I had to ask.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing, it’s just… between the Loa and the charity, it’s been a long few days.”

  “Charity?”

  “I was performing for one downtown.” A look of concern crossed over her face before she composed herself and looked toward Felix.

  “Felix,” I said, “let’s see what’s happened to your friend.”

  He pulled back the plastic sheet just enough to uncover the head of the body. Blood and dirt matted the man’s short white hair, while deep gouges ploughed their way through the man’s face. What little skin remained was a sickly gray that only accompanied death. Damn, I felt for Felix having to see that.

  “Sal was a good guy,” Felix said, his voice soft. “He owned a flower shop and lived downtown. Moved to Vashon Island from England about twenty years ago and then moved again into the city recently.” He choked. “He liked ninja movies.”

  “Ninja movies?”

  “Yup, the cheesier the better. He was like that.”

  “Can I see the rest of him?” Thelma asked as she walked around the side and studied the man’s face.

  “Yeah, but it ain’t pretty.” Felix became even paler, if possible, as he pulled down the plastic sheet. Ain’t pretty was an understatement. Jagged bones from his broken ribcage protruded from the shredded muscle and flesh.

  “Damn, what the hell did this?”

  “Wolves, or some other kind of predator,” Felix said. “Whole bunch just took to him after he was shot. But here’s the weird thing, man. He wasn’t eaten.”

  “No?”

  “Nope, just mauled. Like the animals were trying to obscure the bullet wound, but they didn’t count on me. I got mad Sherlock Holmes skills, man.” He tried to laugh, but it came out as a sob. He turned and stared at the X-ray monitor.

  “Wait.” Thelma interrupted. “The animals tried to make it look like he wasn’t shot?”

  “Lots of cultures have myths about controlling animals,” I told her. “You’re telling me you’re skeptical after everything we’ve seen?”

  “Good point.” She went back to studying the body. “What about werewolves?”

  Felix went pale and almost crossed himself. “No way. They’re all gone.”

  “The Watchers eliminated the outbreak long ago,” I explained.

  “Eliminated?”

  “They believe in a pretty rigid scorched earth policy.”

  “No more werewolves,” Thelma repeated. “Huh, that’s too bad. I was hoping for some big hunky wolf man to sweep me away from all this.” She moved to the dead man’s shoulder and frowned a bit.

  “You’ve been reading too many romance novels.”

  “A girl can dream, right? At least it’s better than obsessing over vampires. Never could understand that fascination.”

  I glanced over at poor Felix, who went even paler.

  “Hey, what’s this?” Thelma asked as she leaned closer to the man’s shoulder.

  “What?”

  She reached toward the body. “You don’t see that? It’s like there’s something under his skin.” She poked his shoulder, but I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. “You really don’t see that?”

  I shook my head.

  “It’s right there. Like a faded tattoo. Hold on a second.” She rushed over to her black purse and swept it over to us, all the while rummaging through it. I leaned closer but couldn’t see anything on the man’s skin.

  Finally, Thelma pulled out a small digital camera and studied it in the stark light. “This should do it.”

  “A camera?”

  “You ever wonder why most magical creatures don’t like cameras? A little reality can break almost any glamour if there’s enough doubt.”

  “Glamour?” Felix asked, fear once again in his voice.

  “There’s something under his skin. A tattoo. You can’t see it now, but once I use this, you should be able to,” Thelma explained as she powered on her small point-and-shoot camera.

  “I’m so confused,” Felix whined.

  “I was too,” she said with a smile, “but then Jake described it like this. Think of magic like the world’s most powerful stage magician. Remember those guys from the eighties? How do you think they made the Statue of Liberty disappear?”

  “No clue.”

  “Sleight of hand. They make you focus over here.” She picked up the small camera in her right hand and held it out to the side. “Once you do, you won’t see what I’m doing over here.” She wiggled the fingers of her left hand, and I looked. Somehow the camera was in her left hand.

  “Magic needs to live inside the belief system humans create, with their laws of physics and science,” she explained. “But it doesn’t mean it can’t bend the rules—”

  “When no one is looking,” I finished for her.

  “Exactly. Glamour works the same way. It gives the world what we want to see, and as long as we believe in it, the illusion stays intact.”

  “Do we need to just wish it away?” Felix asked.

  She smiled mysteriously and held up the camera. “It’s not that easy. I’ve created a crack in the glamour just by seeing the symbol on his shoulder. Your doubt will help break it. The camera then shows us what’s really under the magic.”

  “And in doing so, reality comes crashing in and breaks the spell,” I finished again.

  “You’re a fast learner,” she said. She took a deep breath and focused the camera on Sal Greenberg. “Hold on to your hats, gentlemen. I have no clue what this is going to do.”

  Oh yeah, that’s what I loved to hear before someone breaks a spell.

  The camera clicked. The flash lit up the body.

  Nothing happened.

  Thelma frowned and looked at the camera in her hands. “Huh,” she said. “I wonder…” She then lifted it and hit the view button. Her eyes widened. “Damn.”

  The word came out of her mouth and hung in the air like a benediction. My ears popped. My filling vibrated.

  And the room exploded in green.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  There are quite a few people to thank for the birth of this book. First and foremost is my wife and editor, Juliet, whose attention to detail helped forge the novel into something beautiful. Together with my son, Kyle, my family has been there for me, even with all the strange adventures I've put them through over the years.

  I want to thank my mom for encouraging my writing, even when the things I write aren’t her cup of tea. Thanks to Rusty Buchert, Race Lancaster and Marv Wolfman for helping me polish and make this a better story.

  To Paul Weaver and Kyle Shubel, you guys guide
d me through some serious marketing hurdles. Thanks also to Nicola Weaver, Gary Schoen, and Evan and Cheryl Boehler for checking out the book on the various devices out there. Never an easy task.

  I would like to thank all those listed above for all the words of encouragement that got me through the process, but the list wouldn’t be complete with shout outs to David Sears, Bobby Schuller, Jim Dooley, Alicia Miralez and Renee Johnson. Nick St. James would still be just an idea without you guys.

  Finally, a big thank you to Ross Whitehead, William Martin and Steven Badanes for letting me wake up the Fremont Troll and have him speak to the world.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Following his passion and creativity Brian Freyermuth began his game design career with the award-winning computer role-playing game, “Fallout” and hasn't looked back.

  When he’s not making video games or writing novels, Brian can usually be found spending time with wife and son, reading, hiking, or out in the wasteland hunting down feral ghouls. You can visit his website at www.brianfreyermuth.com.